"No. A rose smells as sweet no matter what the circumstance. But once that mutual dependence is broken, once one side no longer needs the other, then the 'love' is gone."
He turned his head to look at her. "Ah. You still needed them, but they no longer needed you."
"Who? What are you talking about?"
"That rich family you told me of, the ones who betrayed you."
Sabrina drew in a pained breath as her hands clenched the wheel. "Do you remember everything?"
"If it interests me."
"Presumably, my life interests you."
"Very much."
She spared him another glance. It was a searing one, she hoped. "Why?"
He closed his eyes and chuckled, low down in his chest. "You are an intelligent woman, Sabrina, but sometimes you act as though you are quite stupid."
Vincenzo didn't want to remember one tiny little kiss, but he kept in mind every miserable detail he'd ever heard of her life. "You don't always appear to be playing with a full deck, yourself, Vinnie, my boy."
At that he laughed, deep and rich and unwittingly seductive.
Quickly, to distract herself from the effect of that male laugh, Sabrina checked the rear view mirror.
Their tail was gone.
~~~
Sabrina counted. Four. Four spoonfuls of sugar went from the canister into Vincenzo's coffee. This was a ritual she'd become used to seeing over breakfast with him. She hadn't become used to actually watching him drink the stuff, however.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like some more?" she asked, as he lifted his cup.
He halted, dark eyes glancing over the top of the hotel restaurant cup. It was a light and airy coffee shop, with bustling waitresses and a bumper crop of hungry, noisy patrons. "Mi scusi?" Vincenzo asked.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like some more sugar before you venture to drink that coffee?"
His lips curved as he brought the cup the rest of the way to his mouth. "Unfortunately, there is no other way I can stomach your weak American coffee."
The complaint wasn't even close to being serious. Vincenzo was still delighted that Sabrina had checked them into a half-way decent hotel the night before. He'd taken one look at the Spanish Mediterranean job, together with its lush gardens, and had sighed like he was in heaven.
Sabrina had had her own reasons for picking the respectable Santa Barbara hotel. She'd wanted doormen and maids. Witnesses and security. Their tail might have dropped from behind them while they were driving yesterday, but Sabrina was sure they hadn't lost him.
"Ah, so there's a reason behind the sugar," Sabrina returned. "When in Italy, you can drink your coffee black, like a real man."
His dark eyes sparkled at her and he laughed.
The sound caused a funny pain to arrow through her chest. The pain startled her, then disappeared.
Fortunately, Vincenzo was oblivious to her brief distress. "Back in Italy," he said, mock sobering, "the women drink the coffee just as black as the men do."
"A truly barbarian country."
Vincenzo just smiled. He looked better rested than he usually did in the morning. There weren't any dark circles under his eyes or hollows in his cheeks. Plus he'd actually eaten something. Sabrina's own plate of hot cakes sat half-touched before her. This time she was the one who hadn't slept. Staring up at the ceiling, she'd suffered the repeating memory of sunlit cliffs and magic kisses. Nothing could have been more useless.
"Sabrina." With his brows drawing down, Vincenzo interrupted her thoughts. "I am wondering... How are we going to find Francesca Miller when Harry came up with no trace of her?"
It was a good question. Harry's blank draw was not a good sign. "We have to assume she's in the Santa Barbara area somewhere, like her mother-in-law said." Sabrina toyed with her own cup of weak American coffee. "With a scope that narrow, I'll bet we can find her on our own."
Vincenzo's somber face darkened.
"Come on." Sabrina removed the napkin from her lap and threw it on the table. Best to forestall another lecture on 'dark forces.' "Time to get to work."
"Oh?" Brightening, he stood and picked up the bill. "Where do we go from here?"
"The library. So you'd better have your cigarette ration now. They won't let you smoke in there."
"You need my help?" His wallet came out of the back pocket of another pair of designer jeans.
"Yes." It was a lie. Sabrina doubted he'd be much help, but she wasn't letting him out of her sight. She was sure the newspaper man from Manhattan was around somewhere, watching. Like hell she'd leave Vincenzo alone and unprotected all day. She grabbed her purse. "I'll meet you at the car in fifteen minutes." For a few minutes, out in the open, smoking, he'd be safe enough.
"There is no need." Vincenzo placidly laid far too much tip on the table. "I can go with you now."
"But your cigarette—"
He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets. His chin tilted forward in mild challenge. "I have quit smoking."
"You quit." Sabrina stood behind her chair in the noisy, crowded restaurant and stared at him. "You quit smoking."
Their conversation of the day before rushed back to her. Warmth gathered uncomfortably beneath her cotton shirt. No, she wanted to tell him. Don't quit on my account. I don't care if you drop dead of lung cancer.
But somehow that didn't come out of her mouth. "Well, that's...admirable, Vinnie." As if that much weren't bad enough, she added, "I wish you luck."
He smiled at her then and Sabrina had to turn away. Because something in that smile made her chest hurt—again.
~~~
During the three hours they spent in the plush Santa Barbara public library, Sabrina's chest stopped acting up, but her eyes started bothering her. Those eyes of hers kept...noticing things about Vincenzo.
Meanwhile, the search for Francesca Miller did not go well.
"Niente." Vincenzo dropped a heavy phone book on top of the stack beside his chair. "I find nothing. How about you?"
Nearby, Sabrina sat at a microfiche machine. "Nothing yet."
"Perhaps Agnes was mistaken." Vincenzo glowered. "Perhaps her daughter-in-law does not live in Santa Barbara."
"That's possible."
With an unintelligible mutter, Vincenzo stretched out of his armed chair.
From the corner of her eye, Sabrina caught the unconsciously graceful movement. Yeah, those eyes of hers were definitely misbehaving; they were noticing Vincenzo physically. But so what? It didn't mean anything, like she wished he would notice her back. Certainly not!
"What do you look at now?" Vincenzo came to a halt beside her chair. His hand rested on the back of it.
Despite herself, the proximity of his hand made Sabrina tense in awareness. "It's the local newspaper announcements. Births, deaths, marriages. I'm looking for a mention of Francesca Miller."
"She has no children," Vincenzo reminded Sabrina. "Do you think she may have remarried? Or—" He stopped as the obvious reason for Sabrina's search occurred to him. With what sounded like an oath in Italian, he added, "Please God, she has not died." His tone indicated a certain resignation, however, as if such a disaster was exactly what he expected.
"I haven't found her among the deceased," Sabrina assured him.
"Bene. Let me try." He reached down for the microfiche control. Sabrina didn't manage to get her hand out of the way before his fingers brushed hers. Contact.
Dammit, now her fingers were getting in on the act. Magic tingled up her arm. It tickled her nose. Sabrina had to close her eyes to will it away.
When she opened her eyes again, Vincenzo was still staring at the screen. He was gazing into its backlit glow as though the secrets of the world were written there.
Curious, Sabrina leaned forward to take a gander. He'd scrolled to an announcement for free dog vaccinations.
Dog vaccinations? That's what mesmerized him? Or—
Sabrina's breath caught. Or...maybe he was fighting off the same exact sensation she was: all t
hose sparkles.
Oh, boy. She had to grit her teeth against an unwanted surge of satisfaction.
As if it mattered!
"No," Vincenzo muttered, as if agreeing with her. Meanwhile, he relinquished the control. "It is nothing."
You could say that again. Sabrina grabbed the control, determined to get control of all her malfunctioning body parts: chest, eyes, and fingers. Nevertheless, she jerked at the feel of the control, warmed by Vincenzo's touch.
Her movement made the image on the screen jump. "Ah—" Sabrina's budding curse stopped when something at the edge of the monitor caught her eye. "Hello." Carefully, she nudged the control over. The scent of prey was suddenly in the air.
"What is it?" Vincenzo asked.
"I'm not sure." But the hunting instinct had her in its thrall. In an instant it overwhelmed all other sensations. Sabrina fiddled with the control.
Vincenzo read the headline she'd found. "'New wing to be constructed on children's hospital.'" He gave a low whistle. "Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollar donation."
Sabrina felt blood pump heavily in her veins. "Look who gave the donation, Vince."
He did. Rather than whistling, he went completely silent. Then he looked down at Sabrina. "Given by Mrs. Francesca Miller."
Sabrina couldn't help grinning. "Bingo."
Slowly Vincenzo smiled. This wasn't a smile of angelic innocence. No, this was a deep, complicitous smile. Dark and dangerous. For a moment he was a con just like her, hot on the trail.
For a moment, they were together.
Then Vincenzo's gaze flickered away.
With that connection broken, the truth rushed back in. They weren't together. Sabrina was only with the man because he'd hired her to find his damn painting...so it could do whatever he hoped it would do for him regarding his dead wife.
And she was only with him in order to steal that same painting from him.
He was the mark. The mark, the mark, the mark.
"So." He cleared his throat. "What does the article say about her?" He apparently didn't want to lean too close in order to be able to read it, himself.
Well! And she didn't want him leaning down close over her shoulder, either. She didn't want all these useless zings of sensation tingling through her.
Raising her eyebrows, Sabrina squinted at the screen. A weird part of her hoped there'd be no useful information there—she wasn't even sure why.
"Let's see." She skimmed the article, which was mostly about all the good work for children the new wing of the hospital would be able to accomplish. A surprising wealth of information was included toward the bottom, however. "Ms. Miller apparently refused to talk to the reporter. She doesn't talk to anybody, is some kind of recluse." Sabrina's eyebrows rose even higher. "Guess she pissed off the reporter 'cause he's spilling all kinds of beans here."
"What do you mean?"
"He says she's avoided society since stories began to circulate about her, uh, activities, during World War II. Seems as a young woman she got in rather tight with the Nazis."
Vincenzo sighed. "The Germans were allies, unfortunately, until the end."
"Yes, but the reporter here implies she was using her relationship with them to obtain lucrative contracts for her father. And that she brought some of that money over when she came here from Italy with Alan Miller. That that's how he got his start in the oil business."
"That is a great deal of information," Vincenzo enthused.
"Yeah, well..." Sabrina felt loath to agree. "We still don't have an address or phone number."
"No, but— Ah, is that a picture of her I see at the bottom of the screen?"
Sabrina snorted. "It's a picture of her house—behind a stone wall. She wouldn't give the newspaper a photo of herself."
Vincenzo's dark eyes lowered to Sabrina. "You think she makes this very difficult?"
"Difficult...if not impossible." Sabrina almost felt triumphant.
Vincenzo rubbed a hand over his chin, looking thoughtful, then slowly lowered to his haunches. His eyes were now on a level with hers; his expression was somber. "Difficult, if not impossible...but my condottiere will find a way."
Sabrina pursed her lips. His expectation was like a hand closing in her chest. It squeezed upon her sense of triumph. "Why is it," she asked, "that the dark forces don't apply to my abilities?"
Vincenzo's sudden grin was brilliant. "Because you are from the other side."
That squeezed worse than ever. Sabrina rose from her seat. She wasn't from the other side, the good side. And he was too nuts to figure it out. Of course, Sabrina didn't want him to figure out her true, traitorous intentions. That would mess up all her plans, dash her dreams and hopes.
"Why don't you make a copy of this article?" She was going to get her long-awaited revenge against the Castlewrights—right after clearing any debt she owed Lise. Nothing he could do or say was going to stop it. "While you take care of that, I'm going downstairs—to check a few things."
"Very well, Sabrina." He straightened to full height and frowned down at her. "Is anything wrong?"
"What? No, of course not. We're on our way to finding your painting, aren't we?"
"Yes." But he was still looking at her funny. With concern. "We're on our way."
Sabrina backed up. Away, she thought. She had to get away. Nothing cowardly. She just had to get away from him—from him and the mysterious danger he presented.
She turned and headed for the stair. At the stairwell, she opened the door, stepped inside, and immediately found her mouth covered by a large and powerful male hand.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sabrina would have struggled away from the hand over her mouth, but an equally powerful arm wrapped around her waist. She screamed, but didn't manage to make much noise.
"Shh," warned a deep male voice in a whisper. "He shouldn't hear us."
Sabrina stilled, surprised to hear an accent that sounded a lot like Vincenzo's.
"I have a message for you," said the voice.
Sabrina mumbled something, hoping he'd understand—and care—that she wanted the use of her mouth.
He paused. "Will you be quiet?"
She nodded.
Cautiously, he released her. Sabrina turned around to behold the man she'd first seen holding up a wall outside Vincenzo's Manhattan apartment building. "Who are you?" she asked. "Why have you been following us?" She was shaking, as much with anger as fear. His accent said he was Italian. Didn't he know there'd be no ransom?
The man put a finger to his lips. Then he reached inside a jacket pocket. He withdrew a piece of paper, folded in four. "Tonight," he said, handing it to her.
"What?"
But he only put his fingers to his lips again and backed away. Then he dropped down the stairs, moving too fast to follow, assuming she'd wanted to.
Her hands were shaking as she unfolded the piece of paper. Did these bandits imagine she'd cooperate in a kidnapping? The very idea made her see red. But the note, when she finally got it open, wasn't about a kidnapping. At least, she didn't think so.
It was in a steeply sloping, narrow script and some of the letters were formed so oddly that it took her a minute to decipher the thing.
We believe it will be to our mutual benefit to discuss Vincenzo and his current situation. Therefore we request the honor of your presence this evening at eight o'clock. A car will be sent to pick you up at the corner beyond your hotel. We leave it to your discretion to keep any knowledge of this meeting from Vincenzo. Again, this is for our mutual benefit.
It was signed,
Sylvio Ameri.
Sylvio. That was Vincenzo's uncle, the old man who wanted Vincenzo to come home. Slowly, Sabrina folded the note, feeling less relief than she would have liked. The man from Manhattan was only an emissary from Vincenzo's uncle Sylvio, she tried to reassure herself. No one was going to kidnap him.
At least, she didn't think so.
Sabrina tucked the note into her bra. On the other hand,
Vincenzo's uncle didn't want his nephew to know about this meeting. That smelled to high heaven.
Only one thing to do, of course. She straightened her blouse. Be waiting at the assigned corner at...a few minutes after eight o'clock.
Sabrina continued down the stairs, wondering how to achieve that little feat without her tag-along employer.
~~~
By a quarter to eight, Sabrina had an idea how to go somewhere without Vincenzo—or at least she had a wishful guess.
With her black suede heels in one hand, she knocked on the connecting door to Vincenzo's room with the other. The black sheath she had on fit tightly around her feminine curves—or it would fit that way once she managed to zip the thing up.
There was no answer. She tried the knob and it turned in her hand. "Vince? You decent?" Cautiously, she opened the door.
He was decent. He had the heels of his leather loafers on the round conversation table and a newspaper in one hand. In the other hand he held a pencil. His brows were drawn in concentration.
"Vince?" It was an American newspaper he was reading, the business section, she saw. "Hello there," she said.
Finally, he turned his head. The preoccupied expression in his eyes instantly dropped as he beheld her. Those eyes focused and stared.
Sabrina experienced a major flare of gratification. Her guess hadn't been off, after all.
"I could use some help zipping this up," she claimed, and started across the room. It didn't take a lot of clothes, really, to round out a woman's closet. One item could fill a variety of roles. This black dress with the off-the-shoulder sleeves and the run of sequins down one side hadn't been expensive. Meanwhile, it could be used for anything from going to the opera to a sultry night at home. Tonight she'd hoped it would serve as a distraction.
Vincenzo looked distracted. His eyes lowered from her face as she walked up to him. Oh, thank God, Sabrina thought. He couldn't take his eyes off her.
"Please?" She came to a stop in front of his casually seated form and deliberately turned her back on him.
It took him a minute to figure out what she wanted. Then she heard his feet come down off the table. Gently, a hand touched her back. Fingers gripped the zipper and slowly drew it up. Sabrina had to suppress a shiver at the sensation of his fingertips softly travelling up her back.
Your Scheming Heart Page 10